2,190 miles down. 10 miles to go. Tonight, Friday October 18, the mules and I arrived in Hailey, Idaho, the target we’ve been aiming for since we rode out the front gate 6 months ago.
Tomorrow we tackle the final 10 miles to Nick and Carolyn Parker’s,… Continue reading
A few days ago I wrote how my top hat didn’t fit my head like like it used to. Like it’s been worn by another man. A man with a bigger, longer head.
This morning I solved the mystery.
Seems mule Cracker’s been rockin’ some fancy headware behind my back…
The mules and I have arrived at the first town in American powered by nuclear power, Arco, Idaho.
It fit my head when I got married. It fit my hat when I rode out the front gate. It doesn’t fit my hat any more. What the hell’s going on with my top hat?
Some Top Hat History
The mules and… Continue reading
Howdy Friday. The mules and I are heading in to the final 130 miles of our Mules West ramble. This week (October 12 – 17) we head back out in to the desert after a wonderful few days resting up with the Humphrey family in Blackfoot, Idaho. From here in Blackfoot, Brick, Cracker and I ride toward Atomic City and Arco.
Know anyone that could trailer my mules Brick and Cracker from Idaho back to North Carolina? They’ve walked 2,000 miles to get here and don’t want to walk home.
Right now (October 11) the mules and I are in Blackfoot, Idaho. We plan to be in Hailey, Idaho around October 25, I’d be looking for a trailer ride home to North Carolina… Continue reading
April 6, 2019, mules Brick and Cracker and I rode out our front gate and headed west from North Carolina. This week, 181 days and 10 states later, we arrived in Idaho. Crossing Wolverine Gap, east of Blackfoot, we ran in to snow for the second time in 3 days. The Rocky Mountain winter is coming. It is time to wrap up the Mules West ramble.
October days don’t fade in Idaho. They cut from light to black. What stands between you and the remains of the day is crisp as a black paper cutout. Even a mule.
The icy flakes hit us in the Caribou National Forest where I was expecting to find the “Welcome to Idaho” sign. Except there was no sign, only sideways blasting snow and 2 mules. They looked at me wondering why the hell we were still headed up the mountain toward the flake spitting clouds.
For 20 summers he’s pushed cattle up and down the Greys River Valley, upstream in the spring, downstream in the fall. This week, he put the mules and me up. He fed us whiskey and camp cooked potatoes but left us with something way warmer than that. Meet Cowboy Dave.
Leading up to Cowboy Dave
10 days ago, the mules and I headed out of Douglas, Wyoming, bound for Alpine. The first 60 miles took… Continue reading